


Bad (And not so Bad) Omens

by LilacTurtle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacTurtle/pseuds/LilacTurtle
Summary: There are many universes, each unique, though some more unique than others. There is a universe where the sky is green, one where humans have three eyes, and one where everyone is allergic to pears. This one is none of those. This Universe starts with a snake and an apple and an angel. Just not the ones you expect.“Well, that went down like a lead balloon," the angel said, turning to the serpent next to him. It looked at him with as much confusion as a snake could. “I said, well that went down like a lead balloon.”“I heard you fine the first time," said the beige and gold serpent, though he still had no idea what a lead balloon was, and turned into a man-shaped being with a shock of white curls and wings to match. The angel blinked. “Though I’d say it all went rather pear-shaped.”In other words it's my super complicated (and not all that original) reverse au fic, that starts off simple and spirals into something uncontrollable.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 25





	1. The Garden Of Eden, 4004 BC

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are a lot of these au's already, but I've been wanting to make my own ever since I first came across one, so I did. This is my first work, so tell me what you think of it.

**The Garden Of Eden, 4004 BC**

It was not a nice day. 

All the previous days had been nice, but this one just wasn’t turning out to be one of them. It was the first not nice day and the atmosphere was suitably moody. The newly created rain was dripping slightly from the newly created clouds, and the newly created thunder could be heard in the distance.

The angel standing atop the wall let out a long sigh and regarded the drop of water falling down his black feathers with a mixture of pity and disdain.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon," the angel said, turning to the serpent next to him. It looked at him with as much confusion as a snake could. “I said, well that went down like a lead balloon.”

“I heard you fine the first time," said the beige and gold serpent, though he still had no idea what a lead balloon was, and turned into a man-shaped being with a shock of white curls and wings to match. The angel blinked. “Though I’d say it all went rather pear-shaped.” 

“What?” Said the angel whose name was Crawlyel, though he was definitely thinking of changing it. Crawlyel was just so pretentious. “What have pears got to do with anything? All this ruckus is about an apple, innit?”

“Well, that’s the point, darling,” the serpent answered, his mouth sliding into a wide smile and revealing his very snake-like teeth. “It all went wrong, just like a pear-shaped apple is wrong. Still, even I think it was an overreaction. First offence and everything.” He turned to look directly at the angel. “Tell me, angel, what so wrong about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway?”

The angel pulled a face, thinking deeply, slightly concerned that an answer wasn’t at the ready. “Well it has to be wrong,” he eventually answered, “because it was you who started it.”

“Really, they just sent me up here, told me to cause some trouble,” said the demon, whose name was Aziraphale. “I just got peckish, you know. And the apple was just right there, taunting me, and really, I’ve never been the best at denying temptation, if you must know…” He trailed off, gazing down at his hands.

“Still, you’re a demon. Suppose you can’t expect a demon to do good,” said Crawlyel. “I mean, no offence, but it's in your nature.”

“Yes, but surely you think it's a bit extreme,” said Aziraphale. “Really, it's dreadfully unfair of the Almighty, putting a fruit tree in the middle of the garden with a great big sign saying ‘do not touch’ on it. Practically begging to be eaten," he glanced at the angel again. “I mean, why not put it somewhere far away? Lots of space around.” He gestured around wildly. “All those animals and plants, and She couldn’t find anywhere else to put the tree. On a mountain maybe? Makes you wonder what She’s really planning.”

“Best not to speculate,” said Crawlyel in the tone of someone who’d heard the phrase repeated way too many times. “It’s ineffable.”  
“What, God’s plans?” Aziraphale raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“Yes,” the angel frowned. “They’re beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words,” he said again in that same bitter tone.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curving upward, though no noise escaped him. They watched the rain fall for a few long moments.

“What’s your name, angel?” The demon asked. “I’m Aziraphale.”

The angel frowned. “Not very demonic is it?”

The demon smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile, or rather a much too happy smile trying to cover up a sad smile. “Do I strike you as a typical demon?” He asked. Without waiting for an answer he continued. “Besides the one they wanted to give me were so  _ dreadfully  _ boring.” His words took on a more serious tone. “I don’t really fit in there anyway. Really for a group of demons that rebelled against Heaven they’re not very rebellious. But you’ve still not told me your name, dear.”

“Crawlyel,” the angel supplied, then scrunched his face up in disgust.

The demon hummed thoughtfully. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” He asked.

“Uh," Crawlyel stuttered, surprised at the sudden subject change. He’d been quite lost in his thoughts, to tell the truth, and so it took him a second to realize what had been said. 

“You did, didn’t you! It was very impressive. All sharp and… flamey.” His lips split into a grin. “Whatever happened? Have you lost it?” 

“Uh, no," the angel repeated unsure what to say. “No, I—”

The demon lowered his voice conspiratorially, his eyes glinting mischievously. “I could help you find it if you want.”

“No, I— I didn’t lose it. I,” he paused. “I gave it away.”

Aziraphale’s sky-blue eyes widened. “You what?”  
“I gave it away!” He blurted out. “She’s with child, and it's raining, and have you seen some of the creatures out there? They’re vicious! And besides, it wasn’t even really my sword. So I said ‘here you go, big flaming sword for cutting things, don’t thank me, and don’t let the sun go down on you here.’”

Aziraphale let out a laugh. Crawlyel found himself smiling despite himself. 

“Oh, stop,” he bit his lip and looked into the demons eyes. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

The demon’s eyes were gentler now. “I don’t think you can do the wrong thing, dear.”

“Oh, well,” he let out a sigh, “good. I’d been worrying.”

“Yes, me too,” said the demon. “I mean, what if I did the right thing with the whole apple business.” A moment passed. “Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh," Aziraphale added grinning. “If you did the bad thing and I did the good one," he paused for a moment. “Then again, maybe not,” he sobered. “A demon can get in a lot of trouble for doing good.”

Crawlyel nodded along. “So can an angel.”

The new thing called lightning cracked in the distance and the rain increased it's flow. Crawlyel shifted uncomfortably. Aziraphale glanced at him and on a whim stretched his white wing out to cover him. The angel edged closer.

It was dark and wet and cold. But perhaps it wasn’t such a bad day after all. Maybe it could even be a nice one.


	2. Mesopotamia, 3004 BC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what’s all this about?”  
> “Build a big boat and fill it with a traveling zoo.” The angel deadpanned.  
> “Really?”  
> “No,” he sighed, “There’s going to be a big storm.”  
> “Ah,” Aziraphale nodded in understanding. “God’s a bit tetchy, is She?”  
> Crawlyel paused. “She’s wiping out the human race.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the second chapter, hope you like it. I'll try to update every few days.

**Mesopotamia, 3004 BC**

Crawlyel bit his lip as he stared at the procession of animals heading up toward the giant boat. It was becoming a habit of his to bite his lip and he wasn’t sure he liked it all that much. Biting his lip was a sign of nervousness and nervousness meant something was Wrong, and that contradicted too much with his orders that this was Right.

Something shouldn’t be able to be both Wrong and Right at once. It could be Right and wrong, or right and Wrong, or right and wrong. If something was Right and Wrong then either he had to be wrong or his orders had to be Wrong and in either case it didn’t bode well for him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to think of something other than Right and Wrong. He opened his eyes in time to see a child, who could have been more than five or six run past, his laughter bright and innocent and cutting deep into Crawlyel. How could this be Right? And there he goes spiraling down into another argument of Wrong and Right.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the appearance of a very familiar demon.

“Crawlyel!” The demon called out, and the angels lips split into a smile involuntarily. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hello Aziraphale,” he greeted him.

“So, giving the mortals a flaming sword,” the demon raised his eyebrows, “how did that work out for you?”

“Well, She asked me about it, and I told Her the truth,” he turned to look at the demon. He was wearing a black robe that contrasted starkly against his fair skin making it almost shine. His hair looked as bouncy as ever, though he thought it looked a bit dimmer than before. He looked back into the demon’s eyes. “No sense lying to Her after all. She didn’t really do anything about it either. I’m not even sure Gabriel knows the sword is missing.”

“Ah, that’s probably a good thing, dear,” the demon looked around, noting Crawlyel’s frown. “So, what’s all this about?”  
“Build a big boat and fill it with a traveling zoo.” The angel deadpanned.

“Really?”

“No,” he sighed, “There’s going to be a big storm.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded in understanding. “God’s a bit tetchy, is She?”

Crawlyel paused. “She’s wiping out the human race.”

The demon reared back. “All of them?” He hoped not, he was rather fond of humans, and despite their flaws he didn’t think they deserved to die.

“Well, not the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians,” said Crawlyel letting out another heavy sigh. “It’s the locals.”

Aziraphale felt something clench in his chest. “But all the locals?”

Crawlyel scowled. “Not  _ all _ the locals. Noah, up there, his family, his sons, their wives, they’re all safe,” he turned to Aziraphale, a desperate look in his eyes. “But they’re  _ drowning _ everybody else,” his voice dropped. “The kids Aziraphale. You can’t kill kids.”

“Sounds more like the kind of thing you’d expect from my lot,” the demon replied, his smile turning sharp and his eyes hardening. Then in an attempt to lighten the mood he said. “Though I suppose it’s God's plan. And God’s plans are—”

“Don’t say it,” the angel groaned.

“Ineffable,” the demon finished, the corners of his mouth twitching in a suppressed smile.

Recognising the attempt for what it was, Crawlyel added. “They say when it’s done the Almighty’s going to put up a new thing called a ‘rain bow’. As a promise not to drown everyone again.”

Aziraphale smired, though it had a bitter taste. “How kind of Her.”

There was a beat of silence wherein both parties contemplated the situation. Then the unicorn escaped. 

“Oh dear, look,” Aziraphale sniggered, “The unicorn.” He pointed out the unicorn heading away from the boat.

“Oi, Shem,” Crawlyel yelled, his hand flapping wildly, “that Unicorns gonna make a run for it.” 

“Oh why are you shouting?” Aziraphale hissed. Then he rolled his eyes. “It's too late,” he hollered. “It’s too late,” he turned to his companion. “Well, they’ve still got one of them. Not that that’s going to do them much good.”

The crack of thunder had both demon and angel looking up into the sky.

“It’s going to happen soon, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, already knowing the answer. He turned to his left to see that Crawlyel was staring off somewhere into the distance.

“What do you suppose makes something Wrong or Right?” He asked eventually. Aziraphale groaned.

“No, no, I am not doing this. At least, I’m not doing this sober. Or without some food.” 

He glanced around wildly for any ideas. “Ah, yes, perfect. Come on Angel.” He grabbed Crawlyel’s wrist and tugged him toward a group of children.

“What?” He snapped back to reality. “What are you doing?”  
Stopping several feet away from the group Aziraphale lowered his voice. “I’m going to gather the children. If the Almighty wants to wipe out humans, I, as a demon, will oppose her,” he gestured to himself with his right hand, his left still clutched tightly around the angels. “As you can clearly see I am about to poison the minds of the youth, so you are here to thwart me. After all, children are impressionable. Someone has to steer them away from my demonic influence.”

Crawlyel blinked furiously to clear the dust in his eyes and nodded. The demon gave him another smirk and the pressure around his wrist increased for a moment before it was gone. Then the demon was yelling something about the hull breaking and pointing toward the far side of the boat. While everyone was busy staring he made his way into the middle of a group of children, waving his hands like a lunatic and conjuring a bird from his hands.

The children let out a collective gasp, then clambered around the demon, each wanting to touch the bird. Slowly Aziraphale nudged them toward the boat, assuring them that there would be more animals onboard. 

Crawlyel smiled and waved his hand, a small miracle to make sure the children would not be discovered until it was too late, and then Aziraphale was standing right beside him again.

“So,” the demon gave a little wiggle, a satisfied smile on his face. “What do you think?”

Crawlyel turned to the demon and with the utmost sincerity said, “I think it was brilliant.” Then, slightly quieter he added, “Thank y—”

Aziraphale cut him off. “I’m obviously just doing everything in my power to oppose the Almighty,” He added a wink and a smile, and this time it was softer, more natural. “But if I’d done something worth thanking, you’d be most welcome.”

“Ah, yes,” the angel amended. “and I’m obviously thwarting you. But if you’d done something worth thanking, you’d have my gratitude.”

They smiled at each other, then both turned to face the giant ship. As the rain started Aziraphale raised his wing and Crawlyel sidled under it. “Do you think they’ll make it?” He asked.

Aziraphale looked at him. “Humanity? Yes, yes I rather think they will.”


	3. Golgotha, 33 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?” The angel said without turning. He glanced at her face, and sure enough, her eyes were red. Aziraphale felt something warm inside his chest, an almost painful feeling and he suddenly had the insane urge to swipe the tears off her cheeks. He clutched his hands into fists and held them behind his back and opted instead to give her a cheeky grin.  
> “Smirk, me?” The demon mock pouted. “Your lot put him up there.”

**Golgotha, 33 AD**

Aziraphale made his way through the crowd, keenly feeling the pain and despair hanging like a cloud above their heads. He sought out the head of red hair instinctively, having already known she, for she was a she today, would be there. He had sensed it when she had arrived.

There was… something between them, he mused, something stronger than mere acquaintanceship, and definitely not the hatred that was supposed to be there. They’d met several times, of course they had, what with Hell and Heaven both sending their agents to interfere in the same place. But it hadn’t just been that, because they’d talked and went to get a drink and spent time with each other. 

The serpent smiled gently in reminiscence, looking back on fond moments. Being on Earth was much preferable to being in Hell, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Meeting with Crawlyel was always a highlight.

A loud yell brought his attention back to the horrible scene in front of him. He wished he could do something, stop the pain, or at least ease it, but he knew he couldn’t. He had liked the man, Jesus, when he’d talked to him. Well, when he tried to tempt him, though it had been clear from the very start it wouldn’t work. He’d been kind and patient, with eyes that bore down into your soul and accepted you as you were.

Just like her eyes, golden and shining and so earnest. So unlike an angel, yet so perfectly encapsulating the word, so concerned for everything, so faithful. And it all came down to that, didn’t it; Faith. He could admit, if only just for a second, that he still believed in Her. Not in Heaven, mind you, never in Heaven, but in Her. Deep down, he still believed She was Good. And for a demon that was wrong.

Aziraphale sighed, moving toward her again, over the warm and dry dirt until they stood side by side. Her red hair was cascading over her shoulder, her head wrapped loosely in a white shawl. She wore a matching robe, plain and elegant, though the ends of it were stained from the dirt.

“ Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?” The angel said without turning. He glanced at her face, and sure enough, her eyes were red. Aziraphale felt something warm inside his chest, an almost painful feeling and he suddenly had the insane urge to swipe the tears off her cheeks. He clutched his hands into fists and held them behind his back and opted instead to give her a cheeky grin.

“Smirk, me?” The demon mock pouted. “Your lot put him up there.” It was a weak attempt at humor, but it seemed to have worked, because now, instead of the desolate look in her eyes there was a spark of anger.

“I’m not consulted on policy decisions, Aziraphale,” she snapped, finally turning to face him. Though her face was partly covered by the headscarf it was painfully obvious she’d been crying. Once again the strange feeling returned.

“Crowlyel—”

She cut him off before he could say any more. “Oh, I’ve changed it.”

“What?”

“My name,” she drawled, and he could tell she was suppressing an eye roll. “‘Crawlyel’ wasn’t really doing it for me. It’s a bit too,” she scrunched up her face, “squirming-at-your-feet-ish.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s more me,” Aziraphale agreed and flashed her a small smile. He was pleased when one was returned. “So, what is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?”

“Crowley.”

The demon looked up. “Oh, it's… Well,” he snickered, “it’s not very angelic, Angel.”

“Do I strike you as a regular angel?” she echoed his own words from the garden back at him. His smile widened.

The cry of pain, the smack of a hammer, brought the two back to the seriousness of the moment, sapping the humorous mood of the conversation.

“No,” Aziraphale sighed, “no you don’t.” And really that was a bit of a problem now he thought of it, because being different in Heaven could mean being kicked out and that was the last thing he would wish on the angel. Falling, he sighed, it was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. 

“Did you,” Crowley bit her lip, her golden eyes fixed straight ahead, “did you ever meet him?”

Aziraphale’s eyes turned sad. “Yes, he was a bright young thing,” he shook his head ruefully a smile tugging at his lips though his eyes were wet. “I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

Finally fully facing him, Crowley asked. “Why?”

Bright blue eyes stared up at her. “He’s a carpenter from Galilee. Travel opportunities are limited.”

Crowley nodded, throat tight. There was another hit from a hammer.

“That’s gotta hurt,” The demon murmured. His own wrist ached in sympathy. “What, ah, what did he do to get them so upset?” He asked, unable to look away from the horrible sight. “He isn’t the type to cause any trouble.”

Crowley shook her head. “He said be kind to each other.”

“Oh yeah,” Aziraphale muttered, “that would do it.”

The cries of pain rose in volume and angel and demon drew closer together. Aziraphale thought back to his earlier musings, remembered the way Jesus had stared at him and for a minute let himself forget about the consequences. He closed his eyes and prayed to Her, for himself, for Crowley, for Jesus and for humanity. He funneled all his belief into those moments, hoped it was enough, then stuffed those feelings ruthlessly back into their cage. When he opened his eyes the cross was upright and his face was set in determination.


	4. Rome, 41 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Aziraphale wanted to do was drink and eat and maybe sleep. 
> 
> He was, however, startled out of his thoughts when he heard the door swing open again and a loud voice proclaim, “What’ve you got? Give me a jug of whatever you think is drinkable.”
> 
> He turned, and his eyes landed on a familiar angel. Said angel was, at the moment, sitting slumped against the bar, looking as miserable as Aziraphale felt.

**Rome, 41 AD**

Aziraphale strode into the inn, his arms rigidly by his sides and shoulders unnaturally straight. He was radiating an aura of danger, so much so, that passersby were nearly jumping out of his way. He didn’t care all that much at the moment, but usually he preferred people to stare at him for different reasons. Right now though, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass.

He slumped down at a table, glancing around before he finally relaxed. Satan, he hated these days! Since he’d first appeared on earth, back in the garden, he’d tried to distance himself as much as he could from Hell. He just didn't fit in there. He didn’t want to torture or kill or hurt. He would gladly tempt, but he always did exactly as he said. No tricks, no lies. He prided himself on that. 

Hell, he even told people he was a demon most of the time. The fact that they didn’t believe him was on them. 

But, he still had to report down there once in a while. And those days were the worst. And today was one of those blessed days. So all Aziraphale wanted to do was drink and eat and maybe sleep. 

He was, however, startled out of his thoughts when he heard the door swing open again and a loud voice proclaim, “ What’ve you got? Give me a jug of whatever you think is drinkable.”

He turned, and his eyes landed on a familiar angel. Said angel was, at the moment, sitting slumped against the bar, looking as miserable as Aziraphale felt. The angel must have been up to Heaven for him to look that annoyed. It made sense, both agents checking in at the same time. 

Then he noticed the hair. For a moment he gaped at him, shocked, because it was short. The angel had cut his hair. And, for some weird reason, that upset Aziraphale a bit. Because Crowley’s hair was beautiful. And probably very nice to run his fingers through. He didn’t linger long on that thought, instead choosing to stand and make his way closer.

“Crawlyel— Crowley?” He corrected himself. He grinned when the being turned to face him, instantly feeling better. Crowley was wearing his usual beige colored robe, simple and almost boring, though now that he looked closer he could see it was lined with pink and gold. It suited him, Aziraphale thought. He glanced down at his own robe, just as black as always, though now accented with a bright blue that matched his eyes. Looking back at the angel his grin widened. “Fancy running into you here!” He exclaimed looking straight into those golden eyes again, and sitting down next to him. “Still an angel then?” Well. That wasn’t the brightest thing to ask.

The angel gave him an annoyed look. “ What kind of stupid question’s that?” He snapped. “‘Still an angel?’ What else am I gonna be? An aardvark?” He pushed up the glasses he was wearing as they slipped down his face. They were pink, and not doing much to hide his eyes, though Aziraphale quite liked that. They looked good, with the rest of his outfit and his red hair. He blinked, having lost his train of thought, and cleared his throat.

“Come now Angel, no need to fly off the handle,” he murmured softly. He picked up his own clay mug and raised it in a toast. Crowley clinked their cups. 

“In Rome long?” The angel asked, looking less upset after they’d taken a few sips.

“Just popped down for a quick temptation,” Aziraphale answered, deciding not to mention that he came here looking to get seriously drunk. Crowley didn’t need to know Hell was being… well Hell. “And, well, I thought I’d try  Petronius’ new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters,” he smiled.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley said, his voice sounding almost normal. His tone was curious. Aziraphale leaned back, astonished.

“Oh, well let me tempt you—” Aziraphale cringed as he cut himself off. Perhaps that wasn’t the best phrasing to use. He was about to start apologizing, and had just opened up his mouth when Crowley interrupted.

“Well, that is  _ your _ job, isn’t it?” Crowley smirked and took a sip of his drink. His eyes were twinkling with mirth. Aziraphale’s face relaxed into a smile and he too gulped down some wine. Good, so he hadn’t ruined everything. He supposed he was still a bit twitchy from earlier.

“I suppose it is,” he replied and looked up into bright gold eyes. “So, oysters?” His voice was now just as joking as Crowley’s though the request was genuine.

The angel leaned back and laughed and Aziraphale found himself laughing along.


	5. The Kingdom of Wessex, 537 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the mist emerged a person clad in, unsurprisingly, black armour. “You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one,” the voice was somewhat familiar, “but you have found your death.”
> 
> Suddenly he knew whose voice that was. “Is that you under there, Aziraphale?”
> 
> “Crawlyel?” The man pushed up the visor and Crowley could see it was indeed the demon.
> 
> “Crowley,” he corrected, “and what the Hell are you playing at?” He hissed at him.

**The Kingdom of Wessex, 537 AD**

The thick fog made it almost impossible to see, and the stupid helmet wasn’t helping. The armour he was wearing was heavy and clunked with every step, and it was starting to chafe. Behind him the horse whined and he was tempted to join it. Why did Arthur insist on him wearing armour? It was so annoying. 

He pushed up his visor. “Hello?” He called out into the fog. “I, Sir Crowley, of the Table Round, am here to speak to the Black Knight!” There was some scuffling from up ahead and a man emerged from the mist. “Oh, hello,” he tried to sound unthreatening, which was a bit hard seeing as he was enveloped in 50 pounds of metal. The man beckoned him forward and he counted that as a win. “I was hoping to meet the Black Knight.” He walked forward.

Out of the mist emerged a person clad in, unsurprisingly, black armour. “You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one,” the voice was somewhat familiar, “but you have found your death.”

Suddenly he knew whose voice that was. “Is that you under there, Aziraphale?”

“Crawlyel?” The man pushed up the visor and Crowley could see it was indeed the demon.

“Crowley,” he corrected, “and what the Hell are you playing at?” He hissed at him.

Aziraphale turned backwards toward the other people. “It’s alright darlings, I know him. He’s alright.”

“ _You’re_ the Black Knight?” 

Aziraphale groaned. “I know!” He smiled. “I told them it was very rude to assign specific alignment to colors. Black is not necessarily an evil color, there’s just a huge stigma around it,” he shook his head ruefully, “Besides it's so… bland! And obvious, I mean you see someone riding around in black armour you assume it's the Black Knight. I’ve got quite a reputation you know. The amount of times I’ve been recognised— I mean they weren’t even clever. And,” he added looking very offended, “it's so unfair for me to be wearing the armour in the first place. I mean, I look quite fetching in black and armour is quite heroic, but you can’t see my figure at all under this,” he huffed, looking like a petulant child.

Crowley frowned, trying to sort through what he’d just heard. But, now that he thought about it Azirphale did look quite good in black. And the armour was nice. And his hair was still as bouncy as ever. Though, was that a grey streak? It looked good whatever it was.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts Crolwey tried to get the conversation back on track. “So what, are you here spreading foment?” He snapped at him.

“What is that, some kind of porridge?” Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion as his mind conjured images of tasty porridge. Lately there hadn’t been much time to indulge in food, what with being a renowned criminal.

“No, you’re,” Crowley paused, trying to correctly phrase his thoughts, “fomenting dissent and discord.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale nodded, “then yes. King Arthur’s spread a bit too much peace and tranquillity in the land, your doing, I’m sure. My lot can’t have that, with, you know, us being evil and all,” his lips twitched in a familiar suppressed smile. “So I’m here, you know… fomenting.”

Crowley bit back a laugh. “Yeah, well I’m meant to be fomenting peace.”

Aziraphale sighed. “So, we’re both working very hard in damp places for nothing? Seems like a great, big waste of time if you ask me,” He raised his eyebrows.

“It’s not a waste of time!” Crowley exclaimed. “I’m doing good, how’s that a waste of time!” 

The demon frowned. “Well if you’re doing good and I’m doing evil, then we’re canceling each other out, dear,” he answered logically.

“Oh, I suppose that’s true,” Crowley agreed and looked around and scrunched up his face. “And it is a bit damp.’

“More than a bit. Be easier if we just stayed at home,” Aziraphale leaned closer, his eyes widening, and his mouth still frozen in that half smile. “Tell head office we’d done everything they asked, have a nice cup of tea in the meantime.” And maybe some porridge. 

The angel looked outraged. “But that would be lying!”

“Well,” Aziraphale winced, “Possibly, but it’s more like withholding some critical information, and we’d still end up with the same result. Just saves us the trouble of doing it, really it’s just efficient, Angel.”

“But, Aziraphale, they’d check!” The angel protested. His mouth moved silently as he processed before he spoke. “Michael’s a stickler, and Gabriel, if he found out… you do not want Gabriel angry with you. And what about you!”

“Oh, our lots have better things to do than verifying compliance reports from Earth,” he waved his hand. “We’d tell them what they want to hear, and as long as they have the paperwork we’ll be fine. Let them see us doing something once in a while.” He shrugged.

“No!” Crowley shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m shocked that you would even imply… We’re not having this conversation!” He turned and angrily stomped away.

“Well, suit yourself, dear!” Aziraphale called after him, his voice calm.

“Fine!” He yelled without turning, disappearing into the fog. His heart was racing and his mind reeling. He felt horrible, for having shouted at the demon, but what the blazes had the stupid idoit been thinking? It was dangerous, no it was downright suicidal to suggest such a thing.

He sighed, energy draining out of him. He’d been feeling more tired recently. Closing his eyes for a moment Crolwey decided he’d figure out what to do tomorrow. Maybe he’d go back to the stupid demon and explain to him why this was such a bad idea. He’d understand eventually. Right?


	6. The Globe Theater, London, 1601

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned back to the show, a genuine smile making its way onto his face, as it often did when he watched these performances. He really did enjoy them and it had been a long time since he’d smiled like this. In fact the last time had been with…  
>  “Thought you’d said we’d be inconspicuous,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale turned to stare at his friend. “Blend in with the crowds?”  
>  The demon smirked. “I didn’t say that. I just didn’t answer when you asked.”

**The Globe Theater, London, 1601**

Aziraphale stood alone in the middle of the theater, only a few more people quietly chatting or watching the show. The actor on stage was reciting something, though Aziraphale paid only half a mind to it. He paid for a bag of grapes, smiling shrewdly at the woman, adding a wink, and just in case magically procuring a coin from mid-air to pay. She didn’t react, though he hadn’t expected her to. There were some people quite difficult to tempt, at least in some areas. Maybe he could get her with money or power, but he wasn’t trying all that hard right now. He wasn’t here on business.

He turned back to the show, a genuine smile making its way onto his face, as it often did when he watched these performances. He really did enjoy them and it had been a long time since he’d smiled like this. In fact the last time had been with…

“Thought you’d said we’d be inconspicuous,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale turned to stare at his friend. “Blend in with the crowds?”

The demon smirked. “I didn’t say that. I just didn’t answer when you asked.”

“You lied to me!”  
Aziraphale pouted. “Of course not! I conveniently misled you,” he gestured to himself. “I _am_ a demon, dear. Besides I know you’ll like it and you wouldn’t come any other way,” he held out his bag of grapes. “Grape?”

Shaking his head to decline Crowley looked around. “This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” He groaned. “No wonder nobody’s here!”

Spotting the man himself, Aziraphale hushed him. “Quiet, dear, it’s him!” He smiled wider than before as the man approached.

“Prithee gentles,” he said, stopping in front of them and clasping his hands together. “Oh, it’s you Azira!”

“William, darling,” he leaned in to kiss both the man’s cheeks. “I’ve been watching. It’s simply _marvelous_ what you’ve done. I do think this might be one of your best!”  
Shakespear deflated and glanced around the empty theater. “You might be the only one to think that, I’m afraid—” he cut off, glancing at Crowley. “Uh, yes. Do you mind, as your role as the audience,” he leaned forward, “ah, giving us more to work with?” His eyes turned pleading and Crowley noted that they were almost as good as Aziaphales.

“Oh, my dear, of course,” the demon placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You only need ask. I’m at your service whenever you might require it.” He added a wink to cut the tension, and Shakespeare relaxed.

“You speak so openly, people might get the wrong idea,” he muttered, though he obviously was touched by the demon’s words.

Aziraphale’s joyous laugh sounded loud in the empty space. “Who said they’d be wrong?”

“Ah,” Shakespeare blushed and stuttered, waving his hands and moving away quickly, shouting something Aziraphale didn’t catch at the actor, as he was too busy laughing.

Crowley couldn’t keep a smile off his face at that. “You always tease him like that?”

“Oh come on Angel, that was barely teasing” his tone changed again into a deeper, quieter one. “I could show you how to really tease someone later,” his eyes glittered with glee and mischief. Crowley felt himself turn a bit red and coughed to disguise it. “I’m messing with you Angel!” Aziraphale’s voice was light again. He turned back to the play, popping another grape in his mouth and laughing silently.

“I am wasting my time up here!” The actor on stage whined at Shakespeare, who turned desperately toward the two.

“No, no, you’re _very_ good!” Aziraphale reassured him. Bolstered by Shakespeare's thankful glance he continued. “I love all the talking! And the standing! You’re really doing a spectacular job.” From anyone else it might have sounded fake or patronising, but coming from the demons mouth it just sounded true. Content with that the actor began from the top.

Despite his earlier protesting Crowley _did_ listen. It was Shakespeare after all and even his saddest plays were beautifully crafted. The man just had a way with words.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Aziraphale asked, leaning into Crowley.

“Age does not wither, nor custom stale his infinite variety,” Crowley murmured. Shakespeare, still close enough to hear muttered something about liking that one and moved away, scribbling on his paper. “What do you want?”

“Angel! I’m shocked. Are you insinuating that I might have some ulterior motive to obtain something from you?” Crowley pierced him with an unimpressed glare.

“You’re up to no good.” 

“Yes, yes, and you’re up to good. Let’s move past that. I have to be in Edinburgh at the end of the week. Do some temptations, you know, the usual,” he turned toward the angel and pursed his lips. “Apparently, I have to ride a horse!”

Crowley groaned in sympathy. “Ah, hard on the buttocks horses.”

“Major design flaw if you ask me.” 

“Yes, well, I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh too, this week,” he circled around to stand on the demon’s other side. “Dissuading a clan leader from stealing some cattle.”

Aziraphale hummed. “That's why I thought,” he looked at Crowley, “well, waste of effort both of us dragging ourselves all the way to Scotland, dear.”

“You’re not suggesting—” 

“Yes, you’re outraged, I’m sure. I’m suggesting only one of us should go, do the blessing and the tempting, how scandalous! And it’s not like we’ve done it dozens of times before, right Angel?” He raised an eyebrow and Crowley had to concede. “The Arrangement,” his voice slipped into a sing-song manner.

“Don’t say that.”

“My dear,” he reached out a hand to still the angel. “Our head offices don’t _care_ ,” he emphasised the word, “how things get done, as long as they can cross it off the list.”

“But if Hell finds out!” Crowley whispered angrily, his golden eyes boring into Aziraphale. “They’ll destroy you!”

For a moment the demon stilled. He… hadn’t expected this. Reluctance, sure, but he’d expected Crowley to be concerned over himself, over what Heaven would do. Despite what the angel said, Aziraphale knew Heaven to be just as cruel, and just as dangerous, as Hell. Still… He was touched by the angel’s concern, though he’d not done anything to deserve it. A beat of silence and Aziraphale spoke. “Nobody ever has to know. We’re good at this, we can manage that. Toss you for Edinburgh,” as he summoned a coin to appear in his hand he smiled despite himself. He loved doing magic. 

Crowley stared at the coin, several emotions running across his face too fast for the demon to catch before settling on resignation. “Fine, tails.”

Aziraphale smirked and tossed the coin up and slapped it against the back of his hand.

“Tails, I’m afraid. I’m going to Scotland,” he stared at the coin as though it had betrayed him, pouting. 

“Oh, cheer up Aziraphale,” said Crowley. “There anything I can do for you while you’re gone? Perhaps spread some chaos, tempt some poor soul?”

The demon gave a loud sigh but a smile slipped onto his face. “You could—”

“No, not that.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth and pressed a hand to his chest. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Fine, fine.” 

“It’s been like this every performance, Juliet,” they turned to see Shakespeare talking to the woman who’d sold Aziraphale grapes. “A complete dud. It’d take a miracle to get people to come and see _Hamlet._ ”

Hopefully, the demon turned to his friend, eyes pleading.

“Oh, all right,” Crowley gave in. “I’ll do that one, my treat.”

Aziraphale’s face split into a beautiful smile, and Crowley decided that he would do any number of frivolous miracles to keep it there. “Oh, really!”

Walking away, he turned back to face him. “I still prefer the funny ones.”

Aziraphale laughed, the smile still firmly on his face, and turned back to the show, slipping another grape into his mouth.


	7. Paris, 1793

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley shuddered minutely, glancing around at his dismal surroundings. 
> 
> Once again he contemplated whether Heaven would be more upset if he got discorporated or if he used a miracle. Discorperations were a lot of trouble. 
> 
> The cell door shuttered open and a large man stepped through, turning toward the angel and speaking rapidly in french, most of which Crowley didn’t catch. He approached Crowley, reaching for his neck, and the angel panicked.
> 
> “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re making a mistake!”

**Paris, 1793**

Crowley stared at his chains in desperation as though he could make them disappear simply by looking at them. Well, he could, but that was beside the point. There was a cheer from outside, and the sickening sound of a blade cutting through skin and bone. Crowley shuddered minutely, glancing around at his dismal surroundings. 

Once again he contemplated whether Heaven would be more upset if he got discorporated or if he used a miracle. Discorperations were a  _ lot  _ of trouble. 

The cell door shuttered open and a large man stepped through, turning toward the angel and speaking rapidly in french, most of which Crowley didn’t catch. He approached Crowley, reaching for his neck, and the angel panicked.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re making a mistake!” He jumped up, staggering as far away as the chains would allow. “There will be paperwork to fill out. Everyone hates paperwork!” Then remembering he was in France he tried to remember how to speak the language. Why did there have to be so many? He stuttered out something that vaguely resembled French for a few moments before the man stopped him with a raised hand.

“I speak English.” There was another slice made by the blade and the crowd’s yells rose. The man shook his head. “Listen to that, the fall of the guillotine blade. Is it not terrible?”  
“Exactly. Terrible!” Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. If he could just appeal to the man...  
“That is Pierre. An amateur. Always he lets go of the rope too soon. You are lucky that it is I, Jean-Claude, who will remove your traitorous head from your shoulders.” No, it really was bad.

“No! You, you really shouldn’t do that,” he said, placing his hands up in a placating manner. The man ignored him and continued talking. Crowley threw up his hands in exasperation, or at least tried to as they were still chained, and turned to face the small window in the corner.

“I have good news for you!” Jean-Claude smiled, a smirk that reminded him strangely of Gabriel. “You are the 999 th aristo to die at the guillotine by my hand,” he smiled proudly again. “But the first English. Now—”

He was cut off by the sound of footsteps and a very familiar voice approaching the cell.

“And really, you can’t find crepes like those anywhere else. Have you seen what the English had done to them?” Both Crowley and Jean-Claude stopped to stare at the door, where a familiar demon was being pushed toward them.

Aziraphale turned and spotting Crowely stopped mid-step. “Crowley! Just the angel I was looking for,” he turned toward the guard behind him. “Righty-o my dear, you’ve been a great help. Thank you.” And with that he raised his cuffed hands and slammed them onto the man’s head. Snapping his fingers released the now dangling chains and the demon shook his hands, rubbing at his wrists. Then, noticing Jean-Claude he snapped again and the man froze. So did all the noise from outside. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley looked the demon up and down. He was wearing very obvious English clothing that looked like it cost an excessive amount of money. “Oh, good lord.” He looked back up at the demon. “What the deuce are you doing getting locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop?” Crowley had tried to figure out how a bookshop would lead to demonic activity but couldn’t. He would later learn that it was in fact, extremely evil.

“Who said anything about getting locked up? The way I see it, you're the one in chains, angel. Besides I was opening a bookshop,” he paused. “I got peckish.” Not that it was the only reason, but the angel didn’t need to know that.

“Peckish?”

“Well, if you must know it was the crepes. Can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris,” he tilted his head. “And the brioche.” 

“So, you just popped across the Channel, during a revolution, because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?” Crowley lifted his hands to gesture, the chains clinking together.

“I have standards,” Aziraphale looked almost offended. “Besides, I was indulging in gluttony. And well, pride. And maybe some greed and lust, but that’s not very important,” he looked away, clearing his throat. Did wanting someone’s attention count as greed? He wasn’t sure. “Anyway, what are you doing locked up here?”

“I heard they were getting carried away—”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “This is not getting carried away. This is cutting off lots of peoples heads very efficiently with a big head cutting machine. Why don’t you just perform another miracle and go home?”  
“Well if you must know, I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles.” Crowley grimaced. He’d tried to explain that he was saving lives, that it wasn’t frivolous, but Gabriel hadn’t listened. “Got a strongly worded not from Gabriel.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale sighed. “You’ve been trying to help them, haven’t you?” He gestured to the small window. Crowley didn’t say anything, but his face spoke for itself. “Sometimes you really are an angel, Angel.”

“The rest of Heaven doesn't seem to think so,” Crowley muttered under his breath. “You’d think they’d be all for thwarting war and death, but no! I get rude notes.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Heaven does like to pick and choose who to favour. Guess that didn’t really ever change.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ll say whatever I please, angel. You know,” he leaned back against the wall. “My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance.”

Crowley reared back, his shoulders hunching back. “So all this is  _ your _ demonic work?” He hissed, the sound strangely loud in the small cell.

“No!” Aziraphale insisted. “The humans thought it all up themselves, nothing to do with me. And you should be grateful. You’re lucky I was in the area at all!”

“Suppose I am.” Crowley said glumly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and snapped for a third time. The chains around Crowley’s hands fell away and the angel raised his eyes to stare at the demon's face. “Well I suppose I should say thank you.”

“Don’t say that,” Aziraphale hopped to his feet. “If my lot hear I’d gone to three prisons to rescue an angel I’ll be the one in trouble,” his eyes softened. “But for the record, you’re welcome.”  
Crowley’s lips twitched into a smile and the sides of his eyes crinkled. “Well, anyway, I’m very grateful. Is there anything I can do for you?” His glasses raised slightly.

“You could buy me lunch.”

“Looking like that?” He glanced up and down to indicate the ridiculous outfit the demon was wearing.

“Yes, fine,” the demon sighed and raised his hand up, waving it down over himself and switching his outfit with that of the executioner. Swiping down his shirt to smooth it down he turned back to the angel. “Barely counts as a miracle anyway.” He stepped back next to Crowley and unfroze time.

As the cell doors opened and the man was dragged out, stuttering and unable to form words, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. 

“Dressed like that he was asking for trouble.” He sniffed. “What’s for lunch?”

Aziraphale’s face split into a smile, his blue eyes sparkling. “What would you say to some crepes?”


	8. St James Park, London, 1862

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale jerked and turned, his bright eyes staring into Crowleys, and not for the first time the angel wished his glasses were darker. “I didn’t really fall. It’s more like, I stumbled slightly lower. I need a favour.” He was smiling slightly, but it looked very wrong on his face for some reason. Through the ages Crolwey had seen a lot of Aziraphale’s smiles, but this one was new. He didn’t like it.
> 
> Suppressing a sigh, Crowley adjusted his glasses. “We already have the Agreement, Aziraphale. Stay out of each other's way, lend a hand when needed. Don’t you remember?”
> 
> The demon’s eyes flashed. “‘Course I do. I came up with it.” He paused and the nervousness was back. “This is something else. For if it all goes pear shaped.”

**St James Park, London, 1862**

The angel Crowley stood at the edge of a pond watching ducks float by. He held his hat, filled with feed for the birds, and occasionally he would throw some of it for the ducks to eat. He had been standing there for half an hour now. He turned at the sound of hurried footsteps, a figure dressed in black approaching.

“Took you long enough,” he commented, once Aziraphale was standing close enough to hear. “What’s this about?”

Glancing again at the demon Crowley noted that he looked paler than usual, nervous even. Aziraphale bit his lip, pausing for just a second too long to be natural, and, in a hushed whisper, said. “Look, I’ve been thinking, what if it all goes wrong?”

“What if what goes wrong?” Crowley asked, instinctively lowering his voice to match the demons, his eyes narrowing behind pink glasses.  
Aziraphale seemed not to notice the question, staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. “I mean, we have a lot in common, you and me.”

The angel frowned. “I don’t know. We may have both started out as angels but you fell.”

Aziraphale jerked and turned, his bright eyes staring into Crowleys, and not for the first time the angel wished his glasses were darker. “I didn’t really fall. It’s more like, I stumbled slightly lower. I need a favour.” He was smiling slightly, but it looked very wrong on his face for some reason. Through the ages Crolwey had seen a lot of Aziraphale’s smiles, but this one was new. He didn’t like it.

Suppressing a sigh, Crowley adjusted his glasses. “We already have the Agreement, Aziraphale. Stay out of each other's way, lend a hand when needed. Don’t you remember?”

The demon’s eyes flashed. “‘Course I do. I came up with it.” He paused and the nervousness was back. “This is something else. For if it all goes pear shaped.”

This time he didn’t bother holding back the groan. “Don’t start that again. Besides I hate pears.”

“Crowley, if everything goes wrong I want insurance.” The fact that the demon had not reacted to his slander of the fruit jolted him back to reality. Something must be very wrong to worry the demon so much.

“Huh?”

Lowering his voice even more, until it could barely be heard, Aziraphale whispered. “I wrote it down. Walls have ears.” He grimaced. “Well, not walls. Trees have ears.”

“Ducks have ears.” Crowley corrected. “Do ducks have ears?” He mused. “Must do, it’s how they hear other ducks.”

“Just, just read it.” He passed the note over, his hands clasping together tighty. Crowley opened the note and stared at it. In Aziraphale’s thin neat script two words were written clearly, so there would be no chance of confusion.  _ Holy Water _ . He stared at the words, unblinking as his mind screeched to a halt. He tried to inhale, exhale do  _ something _ but all he could do was stare. Holy water. Aziraphale wanted holy water. He couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in his ears, the frantic pounding of his heart. Aziraphale wanted holy water.

He took a deep breath, calming himself, as panic lapped up at him. “Absolutely not! No, I’m… I’m not giving you  _ that _ !” He managed to get out through gritted teeth, his hands shaking ever so slightly. He clenched them into fists, trying to stop them, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling as he looked up at Aziraphale.

The demon’s face fell, for just a moment, revealing just how scared and tired he really was. Then the facade was up again. “Why not?”

Crowley stared at him in disbelief. “Do you know what this would do to you? I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Aziraphale!” He tried to get the images out of his head, of him stumbling into the bookshop and seeing Aziraphale writhing in pain as the holy water destroyed it. He tried not to picture the demon’s face screaming in agony. Tried not to think of Aziraphale being gone, dead. Tried not to imagine isolating himself, of only having Gabriel check in on him. Tried not to imagine drinking alone. Of being alone.

Aziraphale flinched visibly. “No, that’s not what I want it for!” His voice was hurried. “I just want insurance.”

Stopping his mind from spiraling into a panic attack, Crowley glared at the demon. “I’m not stupid, Aziraphale. Heaven would be furious if they’d found out I’d been… fraternising,” he almost winced at his wording but continued on, trying to finish. “I’m not doing it.”

“Fraternising?” The demons gaze had turned cold, his face impassive. The half smile had slid off his face and somehow this was even worse.

“You know what I mean,” Crowley insisted. “We’re done with this conversation.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I do. I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel.” For the first time since he’d known him the nickname felt foreign coming out of the demons mouth. Crowley resisted the urge to take a step backwards, away from the creature standing in front of him.

“Of course you do! You always have! I don’t need you.” He hissed out. What right did the demon have to be angry at him? For that matter what right did he have for even asking him?

“And the feeling is mutual!” Aziraphale turned away, his walk purposeful, his head held high. “Obviously.” His voice was more upset than angry by the last word.  
“Obviously!” Crowley mocked, throwing the offending slip of paper into the pond. He stared at it until it caught on fire, ignoring the hot, angry feeling in his chest. He didn’t look up at the retreating demon, knowing that if he did he would call him back, apologize, do any number of stupid things. He clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into skin. His eyes burned and his throat felt sore. He kept his eyes on the water.

Crowley stood still for a long time, before turning and walking away from home.


End file.
